“The second thing Uncle Edmund is furious about is your allowing Alex to go with the Dowager Duchess of Malmsby without consulting him.”
“We discussed this at the dinner party,” Cassie protested.
“He remembers it being discussed. He says he hadn’t agreed to that idea yet. He thinks this is enough to wrest him from you and have you committed.”
“What?” said Gwinnie from the butler's pantry doorway. She had a place setting in her hands. Behind her stood Rose with another tureen of beef stew.
“He wouldn’t dare,” she continued as she set the things on the table. “My family would support Lady Darkford, and we are not without respect in London.”
He looked doubtful. “He says the Duke of Malmsby has a reputation for being an academic with his head in the clouds.”
Gwinnie snorted in an unladylike manner. “Part of that is his little joke. He takes after his mother. He regularly does his duty in Parliament and is a quiet leader—a word here, a word there—that is how he gets things done without putting himself forward.”
“Why wouldn’t he want anyone to know his role? That makes little sense. He is a duke, after all.”
Gwinnie laughed. “And that is precisely why! You’d have to know the Duke to understand. He enjoys being a behind-the-scenes person.”
“Regardless,” Cassie cut in, “when it is known how poorly the estate has been managed under him, I would have an argument to present as to why he should no longer be the executor of the marquessate and that role be given to another. Like yourself, perhaps.”
“Me! I don’t understand.”
Lord Lakehurst returned to the dining room, carrying Mr. Stillworth’s portmanteau. “Did you know your horse is limping?”
Stillworth finished his stew and pushed away from the table to turn and look at Lord Lakehurst.
“Yes, I think he picked up a stone on the way up the road from the village,” he said.
“And you continued to ride him?” Lakehurst asked. He tossed his portmanteau to the side of the room.
“What else should I have done? He already had the stone, and I knew we weren’t far from here.”
“Is he your horse?”
“No, no. I rode mine hard to get well ahead of the Tidemarks. He was exhausted by the time we reached Wells. The innkeeper suggested the exchange for the rest of the journey.
Lakehurst inhaled deeply. Cassie could see him struggling to contain his anger.
“I gather you have not much experience with horses.”
Mr. Stillworth frowned. “I have ridden horses my entire life.”
“Ridden,” Lakehurst said flatly. “Have you spent much time in the stables with them and the grooms that care for them?”
“Egad, no. Why should I?”
Cassie frowned.
Lord Lakehurst walked to the sideboard to refill his mug with ale before he answered. Though he stood with his back to them, Cassie could tell he was angry.
He turned to face Mr. Stillworth. “In the future, Mr. Stillworth,” he said with feigned calmness, “dismount the horse and try to get the stone out. Whether you get it out or not, walk him slowly to your destination or to the nearest inn where they might see to him. With your weight on him, the stone became deeply embedded and bleeding. We shall have to be careful against infection. I have seen horses being put down for a small injury that becamed abscessed.” He looked over at Cassie. “We have removed the stone, cleaned the wound, and applied a poultice.”
“Good. Thank you for seeing to that.” Cassie knew her late husband would never have ridden a limping horse. If a stone were caught in the frog, he would try to get it out and walk the horse to where someone could take care of the animal. Though her late husband and cousin looked more like brothers than cousins, they were vastly different. Perhaps she didn’t wish him to be the executor of the estate instead of Mr. Tidemark!
“Can we return to our original discussion, cousin?” Stillworth asked.
Cassie had never liked being calledcousinand he knew it. She ignored the form of address.
“With regarding…” she trailed off, waiting for him to continue.
